


No Pill's Gonna Cure My Ill

by DemonicSymphony



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, First Meetings, Flirting, M/M, Paramedic John Watson, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 14:02:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3384323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonicSymphony/pseuds/DemonicSymphony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock is literally clubbed in the head, he's rather taken with the paramedic who is called to his aid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Pill's Gonna Cure My Ill

**Author's Note:**

  * For [UrbanHymnal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UrbanHymnal/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [От моей болезни нет лекарств](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5551751) by [Bothersome_Arya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bothersome_Arya/pseuds/Bothersome_Arya)



> For Urban for being awesome.
> 
> Thanks to Masked-Alias for the read through and OverTheMoon, Miss Davis, and WhoGroovesOn for the title help.
> 
> And the idea from Urban because I asked for a fav pairing and AU *eyebrow wiggle*

Sherlock hadn’t been expecting the golf club. And that really was the crux of the problem, wasn’t it? He hadn’t been expecting it. The shouting going on wasn’t helping his head either. Groaning, he attempted to sit up before his head smacked the carpet again.

“Whoa. Easy mate.” 

Lestrade’s voice was disembodied and Sherlock squinted, trying to bring the world back into focus. Ah, there he was. He winced as he looked at Lestrade’s silver hair.

“You got your hair cut.” Sherlock tried sitting up again, this time hindered by Lestrade’s hand on his chest. 

A chuckle left Lestrade. “Nothing gets by you, Sherlock. Now lie there and be quiet. We called an ambulance. You took that golf club to the head pretty hard. Sally’s already hauling the suspect in.”

Just then the rattle of a stretcher heralded the arrival of the paramedics and Lestrade moved away as Sherlock spied a compact, blond man standing over him. He knelt beside Sherlock and smiled. Sherlock winced as a light shone in his eyes. 

“Hi there, I’m John. Can you tell me your name?” John continued to check Sherlock over and pressed a wad of gauze to his head.

“Sherlock Holmes. I’m a detective, not with them. Well, with them but not employed by them.” Sherlock winced as John pressed harder. 

John glanced to Lestrade to confirm and Lestrade gave a nod.

“Good. Sherlock, can you tell me what day it is?” His fingers rested on Sherlock’s wrist as he took his pulse.

“Tuesday, the seventeenth of February, it’s 9:34 P.M. or there about. I could be off as much as fifteen minutes, but I doubt it.” Sherlock tried to sit up.

John’s hand was firm on his chest as his partner traded out gauze on his head. “You need to stay down while we put a bandage on your head. You’re probably going to need stitches.”

With a huff and a few groans at his head being pressed on, Sherlock decided staying down was probably a good idea. His entire head throbbed. After a minute of being poked and prodded, Sherlock was helped onto the stretcher.

“I called Mycroft, Sherlock.” Lestrade smirked at the look of horror on Sherlock’s face.

Sherlock sighed and winced when he rolled his eyes. “Wanker.”

Lestrade’s laughter followed him out as he was wheeled to the ambulance. Once he’d been loaded up, he found himself staring at John as he was transported to hospital.

Taking his time, Sherlock observed John, watching his arm and the way he responded to bumps in the road.

“Army medic. Until you were shot in the shoulder. Came back and couldn’t leave the battlefield behind, so here you are making ambulance calls. I must be boring you.”

John’s left brow was arched and Sherlock prepared for the swearing to begin.

“That was- well, spot on. Amazing really.” With a gentle swipe, John cleaned up Sherlock’s face with a towelette. 

Sherlock blinked rapidly, face going blank for a moment and John cupped his cheek. “Hey now, none of that. Stay with me.”

Looking confused, Sherlock tilted his head. “That’s not what people usually say.”

“Right. We’ll have you to hospital soon. Can you still tell me your name?”

“No- don’t be stupid. I meant that’s not what people say when I deduce them.” Sherlock’s mouth pressed into a line as he narrowed his eyes at John. 

John laughed. “Oh, well, what do they normally say then?”

“Piss off. Or some colorful variation.” Sherlock’s mouth twisted up into a grin.

With a small chuckle, John continued cleaning the bits of blood from Sherlock’s face. “Well, you got most of it right.”

“Most of it?” Sherlock stared at John, brow furrowed despite the pain.

“I was shot in the leg. The shoulder I wrenched this morning on our first call out.”

Sherlock swore. “It’s always something!”

John shook his head. “You’re something else, mate. Look, we’re here. They’ll get you stitched up, Sherlock Holmes.”

It wasn’t until he was staring at the ceiling a couple hours later, angry at being forced to stay overnight for observation after his head had been stitched, (and Mycroft’s meddling) that Sherlock realized he’d neglected to get John’s last name.

\---

Sherlock raised enough fuss that morning that he was released by eight A.M. and he headed straight for the ambulance bays. He looked up at the door before pushing inside without a thought.

“Oi, mate, you lost?”

Sherlock looked into the room just inside the door. His eyes narrowed for a moment as he took in the man sitting there. “No- you should call your wife. She’ll appreciate it. How soon is she due?”

The man looked alarmed for a moment before he started laughing and shouted up the stairs to the bunk room. “OI, WATSON! Your golf club to the head is here!”

“What?” John came down the stairs with a toothbrush in his mouth, his voice garbled around it. “What are you shouting about, Bill?”

Bill pointed to Sherlock and John’s eyes widened. He choked on his toothpaste and fled back up the stairs leaving Sherlock looking puzzled.

“Have a seat. He’ll be back down in a moment. How’d you peg me for having a pregnant wife?”

Sherlock hummed as he sat. “Simple, really. You’ve got a few stress lines around your eyes but you’re jovial. You keep tapping your hand on the phone in your pocket and glancing at the call out screen. You’ve got a wedding band on and are of an age that men, on average, are expecting children.”

“Christ. He wasn’t kidding about you, was he?” Bill took a drink of his water and shook his head.

With a blink of surprise, Sherlock tipped his head to the side. “He spoke about me?”

“Oh! Nothing identifying, well wouldn’t have been identifying if you hadn’t come in here… what did he call it? Deducing, that's what he called it. If you hadn’t come in here and deduced me. Though he did say you were a-”

“Shut it, Murray!” John tossed a hand towel at his head as he came down the stairs. He cleared his throat as he looked at Sherlock. “Can I help you? Is something wrong?”

Sherlock pushed to his feet. “No- I- I wanted to thank you for last night.”

“Oh- well. It’s my job.”

“Right. Ah- yeah.” Sherlock fidgeted and tugged at his scarf. “Well- I just thought I’d come by and say thank you- again.” He headed for the door, a faint blush creeping into his cheeks.

There was an oof from John as Bill smacked him in the stomach. “Sherlock-”

Sherlock turned looking back at John, eyebrows raised, cheeks still tinged pink. “Yes?”

“Ah- do you do that sort of thing often? Crime scenes I mean.” John’s hand flexed at his side, rubbing absentmindedly at the top of his thigh.

A smile lit up his face. “Only when the police are out of their depth… which is often. I try not to make a habit of getting attacked though.”

“Right. Um, I’m off shift. You want to get a coffee and tell me why you got hit in the head with a golf club last night?” John shifted his weight as Sherlock’s smile broadened.

“There’s a place with excellent Italian coffee near here. Angelo’s. He owes me a favor.” Sherlock held out a hand and John rolled his eyes at the whoop Bill gave.

“Piss off, Murray!” John took Sherlock’s hand, flipping Bill off over his shoulder as he let Sherlock lead him out of the building.

“About that golf club to the head?” John questioned as they walked.

Sherlock grinned. “Well, you see. I’d just accused him of using them to kill his wife…”


End file.
